Across the Great Divide
by TheHighestMountain
Summary: Someone is leaving gifts for General Amaya. She suspects the Sunfire elves. Amaya sends back a note: 'To whomever is sending me gifts. Fuck off. Yours, General Amaya.' She gets back a duel challenge.
1. Across the Great Divide

Amaya looked up from her desk. Lieutenant Gren stood in the doorway in full armour, a small wooden box held in his hands. His face looked grim. Amaya put down her pen and pushed away the papers that she had been reading through, nodding at him to enter.

She hoped fervently that the news he brought was not of another attack. Ever since the Sunfire elves had commandeered the fort that stood at the other end of the breach, Amaya's life had become exponentially more difficult. In the weeks since the death of King Harrow Amaya had barely slept, weighed down by grief for her brother-in-law and worry for her still-lost nephews.

General Amaya did not need another burden on her shoulders today.

Lieutenant Gren approached her, crossing the hard floor and placing the box gently on the solid desk before retreating again to a respectful distance. Gren and Amaya were firm friends, perhaps her closest friend truth be told, but Lieutenant Gren and General Amaya were commanding officer and obedient soldier. She issued orders and he obeyed.

In fact, Amaya had almost ordered Gren to stay behind to lead the search for her captured nephews. She had been plagued by suspicions of the circumstances of Viren's rise to power and driven by a motherly concern for Ezran and Callum, but it would have been foolish to leave behind her best interpreter. The breach was an active hostile zone despite there being no actual declaration of war, and her ability to communicate properly with her troops was of paramount importance.

Whilst virtually of her officers were proficient in sign-language, it could be a slow and inefficient means of speaking. It was far faster with Gren there. Right now, with the Sunfire elves but a stone's throw away, Amaya could not afford to be without him.

His hands now free, Gren signed, _'General Amaya. This was found outside the main door.'_

Amaya raised an eyebrow. This was unusual. All deliveries were scheduled far in advance – Amaya ruled this fort with an iron-fist and she knew exactly what would arrive and when and primals forgive anyone who deviated from that schedule. She knew for a fact that the next delivery due was a food shipment in two days. What then, she wondered, was this?

Gren shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting from foot to foot. She gestured at him to spit it out.

_'There was a note.'_

He produced it from his sleeve and set it on top of the box. Amaya leaned forward to read it. It was heavy, expensive paper. The ink was dark purple, not a colour often seen in writing ink. The script was elegant and flowing and the words were in the language of Katolis.

_For the hard-eyed woman._

_What is this? A prank of some sort, perhaps?_ It was not unheard of for the soldiers to do such things. No doubt the box contained something with an unpleasant smell. Amaya looked at Gren with the aforementioned hard eyes.

_'Why did you bring this to me?"_ she signed at him. _'Clearly this is not intended for me.'_

A man other than Lieutenant Gren might have quailed in fear, kept his gaze straight ahead and made a diplomatic comment with a swift retreat. Gren's mouth opened and his shoulders shook. Amaya let the corners of her mouth curl up in a smile, responding to what was presumably Gren laughing. She could not, of course, hear it. She wondered what it sounded like, if it echoed around the room and brought life to this still and sombre fortress.

Gren laughed because Amaya was anything but soft. He laughed because he did not fear her in the way the other soldiers did. It was not true fear, of course. Amaya was not a cruel woman. She treated those under her command with respect and a sense of justice that had made her unit a popular one, despite the distance between the lonely outpost and the rest of human civilisation.

No, she was not cruel. But General Amaya was a hard woman, forged into iron through years upon bloody years of service to Katolis. Her swords were sharp and her shield bore scratch over scratch. She had stood against elves and dragons and magma titans, shield planted before her and a snarl of defiance upon her lips. She had the scars to prove her legends.

The soldiers looked at her with awe and trepidation, the way one watches a raging storm: respectful, cautious, and ever aware of the havoc it might wreak.

Ever since the Sunfire elves had taken the fortress on the Xadian side of the border tensions had run been running high. It was refreshing to have a second to laugh, to steal a moment of joy in the company of an old and close friend. Then the moment was over. Amaya sat up straight and the mantle of duty fell about her shoulders and she became General Amaya again.

_'Where did this come from?'_ She asked, her hand movements sharp and succinct.

_'It was left outside the main gate. The soldiers on watch saw nothing. I brought it to you immediately.'_ Gren paused. He knew Amaya would not like what he had to tell her. He did it anyway. '_I suspect that an elf left it.'_

The sign for 'elf' was two hand brought up on either side of the head, two extended fingers hooked into horns extending backwards. It also meant monster.

Amaya froze. This was unexpected. In her experience elves left knives in your back and burnt your supplies. They did not leave boxes at the gates of a fortress with a strange note.

'_Investigate. Increase the watch if you deem it necessary_.' Amaya scraped a hand through her hair, rubbing at the scalp. _'What is inside?'_

_'Food. A bread of some kind. I showed it to one of the cooks, Aleki, and he was unfamiliar with it.'_

_'Elven?'_

_'Possibly. We know that their food is different to ours. It does appear superficially elven. But I suppose that it could be a ruse.'_

_'Poisoned?'_

That was the only reason that Amaya could think of for the elves to leave such a thing for her to find. A half-hearted attempt to poison her. Whilst the fortress would not fall without General Amaya commanding it, her loss would be a heavy blow to the morale of the troops and to Katolis at large.

_'Uncertain.'_

_'Thank you, Lieutenant.'_

Gren bowed his head and departed swiftly, leaving Amaya alone with her thoughts. She tugged on a pair of cheap gloves that she kept in the desk and gingerly picked up the offending box. Opening the lid she saw that it did indeed contain a kind of flat bread favoured by the elves, wrapped in a red linen cloth.

That confirmed her budding suspicions. Red cloth was expensive; the art of dying wool bright red was laborious and time-consuming and thus the colour was relatively rare. Except in one place. The Sunfire elves wore red and gold, a tribute to the element that they prized above all others. It struck her as a bitter dichotomy that a people who drew their power from the sun, something that represented life, could cause so much chaos and death.

Amaya stared at the box and thought of a dark-skinned elf woman, resplendent in crimson and gold, a blade of fire in her hand. She remembered being afraid and angry, standing in defiance with a shorn off sword hilt in her hand. Amaya had run when the elves attacked the fortress on the Xadian side of the breach. She had jumped onto her horse and fled with the remainder of her men, those who were not dead at the hands of those monsters.

The Sunfire General was skilled with a blade and with tactics; she represented yet another problem for Amaya to deal with. It was possible that this was her work, a way to unnerve Amaya. But the elves, much as Amaya disliked them, were not stupid. They were certain to know that delivering such an item would only serve to tighten the security at the outpost.

It would be far more tactically sound to simply attack when the sun was at its zenith and their powers were at their strongest. _No_, she thought, _this does not seem like the plot of an invading force._ She could not puzzle it out.

Amaya thumped a gauntleted fist into the heavy wood of the table in frustration. She allowed herself a brief moment: her eyes closed and her forehead gently touched the table. A breath. In. Out.

Standing, Amaya pulled on her cloak, wrapping herself in its comforting weight. The armour of war was all she knew these days and it was both heavy and familiar. She tossed the box onto the hearth fire – one of the few comforts of being a high-ranking officer that she actually took advantage of – and watched it burn. The card she tucked into a drawer.

It would do good for the men to see her, she thought. And the defences ought to be checked. It was worrying that someone, elf or otherwise, had managed to leave this box without being noticed. It would, however, be the last time that happened.

* * *

My attempt at a lighthearted Amaya/Janai (the Sunfire elf woman with a gold crown type headgear) fic. Anything in just italics is thoughts, anything in italics with quotation marks is signed talk, and normal is just speech.

Thanks for any comments! I read them all :) x


	2. Straight to the Heart

**Straight to the Heart**

It was almost a month later when Gren darkened her doorway with another unwelcome surprise. Amaya had not much time to devote to pondering the source of the note and the bread, particularly since nothing out of the ordinary had happened over the last few weeks. She had kept the note, even taken it out from time to time in an idle moment, tracing the careful letters. It was a compliment, she decided, to be called hard-eyed.

This was a time for hardness. Tensions had continued to rise in the fortress. Amaya herself had fought in three skirmishes in the past few weeks, fending off the committed attacks of the Sunfire elves. The last fight in particular had stuck in her mind, like an itch under her skin that just wouldn't go away.

Amaya was not supposed to be there. It was a routine patrol, scheduled to be led by one of her lieutenants. But she had been feeling cooped up, irritable. She'd tried all her usual tricks – lifting weights, taking a nap, stripping off her battle armour and going a few rounds on the sands of the practice arena with those few soldiers brave enough to fight her – but she still felt off. Like the world outside was calling her and she couldn't answer.

So General Amaya had saddled up her mount and headed the patrol, shield slung over her back and a sword high on her hip. Patrolling was a necessary, mundane task for the soldiers, but it was rarely dangerous. There was more to it than simply looking out for potential hostiles; soldiers checked the activity of the lava (you never knew when it might turn aggressive), scouted the twisted routes between the cliffs for signs of travel, and generally looked out for anything awry.

It was an unpopular assignment. The air was perpetually hot and heavy, an effect of the nearby magma. It was difficult to move at speed and it always felt like you were struggling to catch your breath under the weight of heavy armour. There was often precious little to see, too, which made soldiers lax. But not Amaya; she had her eyes wide open, one hand on the reigns of her horse and the other on her sword hilt.

The first sign that something was wrong was the skittering sound of a loose rock falling. Innocuous enough. Rocks fell all the time in these cliffs. But Amaya's mount pricked up its ears and she stiffened. Amaya had one hand on the shield hanging off her back when the first arrows took flight.

One man down. A shaft sprouted from his throat. Blood bloomed. It was a killing shot.

Amaya leapt from the mount, blade drawn. Horseback fighting was virtually useless on these small trails where an attack was far more likely to come from above than in front. She slapped the beast on the flank, urging it to flee. As soon as it was clear, Amaya moved. One archer went down, the skin of his throat parting beneath her blade. A human shouted, distracting her.

An elven melee force slipped out of the rocks, lead by a dark-skinned elf bedecked in gold finery. Amaya narrowed her eyes in recognition, anger flooding her veins. A snarl curled her mouth into something violent and fierce. The two women locked eyes. The elf smiled. It was an ugly thing, all pointed teeth and promises of death.

Oh, she was beautiful. Even Amaya, her mind clouding with blood-lust, could recognise that. The elf was all long, muscled limbs, luscious skin highlighted with golden markings. Her tightly braided hair swung out behind her as she stalked forward, as graceful and dangerous as a predator. But her hands were stained with blood. Not literally, not yet. Amaya looked at the elf and she saw the blood of her man, choking to death behind her on the remains of his own throat. She saw all of those she had lost defending the breach.

Amaya looked at this monster of a woman and saw the corpse of her sister, slain by these peoples' god.

Of course, Amaya was little better. War makes all men into monsters and Amaya had taken tattoos to remind her of that. Under her hair where no one could see, Amaya had two curling horns inked into the skin. A remainder that everyone was monstrous and divine and that she was no different. Keep your enemy close.

Amaya did not think of that in the moment. Instead she thought of fear and blood and loss and she hefted her blade. They crashed together like two opposing forces of nature. The sound of metal hitting metal rang out. They were evenly matched in skill; their previous fights were testament to that. Amaya was strong, bold, yet nimble and versatile with her huge shield; the elf was smooth as silk, gliding seamlessly between her moves as she cut down her enemies with a proficiency that betrayed years of training.

It was the elf's sunforged blade that gave her the advantage. The damned thing cut through Amaya's sword like it wasn't even there. _Dragons above! Every blasted time_. Amaya was angry, fuelled by adrenaline, her blood pounding in her ears. Every fibre of her being called out for her to press on, to use her shield and her agility to fell the woman.

But she was a general. A leader to her core and a leader must act for the good of her people. Amaya disengaged, panting heavily, and ordered a nearby soldier to call for a retreat. She paused for a moment, looking at the elf general, as though daring her to chase. The woman only stood and stared, face blank without a hint of victory.

Then Amaya turned and whistled for her horse and the moment was broken. Leaping astride the great beast, Amaya shouldered her shield and stuck the stump of the blade into her belt. Trotting at the back of the line, casting regular glances over her shoulder, Amaya counted off her men. Only one was missing – the one shot through the throat. _Only one. _Amaya's heart felt bitter and a sense of failure followed her back to the fortress.

She'd taken a small wound on her left upper arm. The fiery blade had parted her armour as easily as sharp scissors cutting cloth, the heat instantly cauterising the cut as it was carved into her skin. Amaya had it bandaged. Gren had mothered over her, insistent on changing the wrappings twice daily, slathering the ugly evidence of Amaya's failure in ointment when she could barely look at it. It still ached.

It ached even now, a week after the fight. Amaya had no idea what she would do without her most trusted lieutenant. She looked at him fondly even as exasperation rose within her at the sight of another unwelcome arrival. Well, more accurately, she looked at the tufts of his hair that was all that she could see of Lieutenant Gren over the top of the towering plant that he held in his hands. He dumped the plant, heavy ceramic pot and all, onto the floor. Amaya felt the ground shudder with the weight of it.

_Again? _Amaya rose from her seat with a sense of urgency and foreboding. _Is this some sort of game to them? To toy with the humans before cutting them down?_ Beyond frustrated, Amaya gritted her teeth in anger.

Gren stood up straight, having caught his breath back.

'_Sir.'_

'_Report, Lieutenant.'_

_'It was found on the north-facing rampart.'_

_Fuck. _Amaya didn't sign it, but the emotion was clear on her face. On the previous occasions no one had seen anything remotely suspicious and the apparent weakness of the security at the fortress worried Amaya deeply. Today it was a plant, but it could have just have easily been a knife in her back. Or poison in the water source.

'_Indeed_,' Gren signed, his expression grave.

To leave such a weight object on the rampart – the high stone wall that formed part of the fortress' protective barrier - an intruder would have had to scale the wall, plant and all, and then get out without being noticed. This was the final confirmation that Amaya needed that magic was at play here.

She moved out around the desk, long and purposeful strides. Pacing up and down she thought on this development. Gren waited patiently at attention. She still suspected the elves of course, particularly after the recent fight, but she recognised that it would be foolish to let her personal hatred cloud her judgement. What was needed here was_ evidence. _

'_A note?' _Amaya asked, hand reaching out expectantly after she had formed the last word.

The previous package had come with a note and this time was no different. Gren produced a card, decorated with the same looping script. The same person. What was their goal? To unnerve her? It was working. Amaya was rattled.

_For the shield warrior. Half-shade. Water regularly. Likes music. _

That was odd. Amaya twisted the card in her hand, thinking on the words. Virtually everyone knew that General Amaya was deaf and had been since birth. She was unable to sing or to play an instrument with any degree of skill; it had never seemed worth the effort to learn when Amaya was unable to enjoy the results. So why that particular piece of information?

How would someone know her well enough to be aware that she fought with a shield but not that she was incapable of producing any music? Unless, she pondered, this was not intended for her? And yet, General Amaya had a special place in her heart for plants. They spilled out across all the surfaces in the room, an explosion of colour and life, each carefully tended according to their individual needs.

So perhaps this _was _a prank by her soldiers after all. It would certainly explain how it got on the battlements. Perhaps an badly thought out attempt at flirtation?

She inspected the plant. It was an upright flowering type with lush, green leaves, perhaps a meter tall. Amaya touched it lightly, fingers delicately stroking the slightly furred leaves. Her hands were strong, calloused from years of gripping a blade-hilt, but gentle and sure. She crouched down and inhaled the sweet scent of the violent blooms; as the smell hit her nose she huffed in surprise.

Gren tapped her shoulder to get her attention. It was a casual touch, not one she'd have permitted from many other people. She looked up at him.

'_What is it?'_

Gren had few flaws, but his complete lack of botanical skill was one of them. Amaya spent many hours on beautiful spring days attempting to teach him plant identification and proper care. He was a kind man, open to learning, gentle and giving and respectful of life, yet everything he tried to nurture died. He often joked that he hoped it wasn't a metaphor; Gren was a pacifist and preferred diplomacy to blades.

At his last failure to keep anything alive for longer than a week – a succulent plant of all things – Amaya had laughed, her eyes crinkling, and she vowed never to let him near anything she wanted to remain alive.

"_An avaria.'_

She hesitated over the name of the plant. Whilst there were signs for every word in the Katolian language and Gren had a fairly comprehensive sign vocabulary, he did not know this one. That was unsurprising. The avaria was a rare plant of near mythical beauty. It grew only the heart of the territories of the startouch elves, rumoured to sparkle under the pearly light of the stars as though the flowers were embedded with thousands of diamonds. Amaya had never expected to find out if this was true.

Gren held out his hand to her. She took it in her left and traced out the letters onto his palm. A – V – A – R – I – A. It was their ritual for new words, easier than writing it out on paper, and Gren nodded in understanding.

Amaya stood and touched Gren lightly on his shoulder. He smiled at her, knowing what such a rare plant would mean to Amaya, even if it came from an undisclosed and potentially dangerous source.

'_I will be out to speak to the men shortly.'_

Gren nodded in acknowledgement and departed swiftly. Amaya stood in thought. This was a priceless gift, something she thought she might never have the chance to see. It represented a curious dichotomy: a gift from someone who knew her well enough to know of her love of horticulture, but not enough to know that she could not sing to the plant. Curiouser and curiouser.

Looking at the plant, a smile curved her lips. She was beginning to think that this _was _an attempt at flirtation after all, and that the musical comment was merely not fully thought out. She would have to investigate. Perhaps she could attempt to speak to all of the soldiers individually. They would

The card joined the other in her desk. Unlike the bread, Amaya kept the plant. She did not want to encourage any romantic advances – she was far too busy for that sort of thing, and it was not permitted for her to entangle herself with anyone under her command anyway – but, well, what would this matter?

If she kept the plant by her desk and tended it with care, thinking about how she had never received something so suited to her before, even from her previous girlfriends, then, well, no one had to know.

* * *

Thanks for all of your support with my little story, I hope you enjoy this update!


	3. Watching You, Watching Me

**Watching You, Watching Me**

The matter had almost drifted from General Amaya's mind when the third gift arrived in the form of a long-shafted arrow sunk deep into the main gate. She'd been carefully tending the plant according to the scant instructions on the note – even asking Gren to sing to it when she thought that the leaves were beginning to droop – and done a little research of her own. One evening she had taken it out to the battlements to see if the rumours were true. The sight of the flourishing plant lighting up as the stars twinkled into view was one that Amaya held close to her heart.

What she did not hold so dear was the discovery that they had been shot at. The offending arrow was unmistakably elven: elegant, well crafted unnaturally smooth wood. The feathers were crimson, shot through with gold. A more curious woman might have wondered whether they were entirely natural or not, and if they were, what kind of animal produced such beautiful feathers.

General Amaya was not in the mood to be curious. If she could have roared her displeasure at her promptly gathered senior ranking officers then she would have done so. Instead she had to settle for signing furiously and letting Gren translate her words in his soft, measured voice.

"What in the name of the primals is going on here? This is the front line of what is likely to become an invasion and no one can tell me who shot an arrow at us? We must be better than this! We are better than this. We must keep Katolis safe and we cannot do so if we can be outmanoeuvred so easily."

Amaya's officers stood facing her, their expressions grave as Amaya picked up the arrow and brandished it at them. She left the beautifully crafted leather bracelet that had been attached to the shaft on the table. The note she signed for Gren to vocalise.

'_Sister to the lost queen. I am honoured by your acceptance of my last gift.'_

Not a gift from an awkward admirer after all. No, this was a threat. This was a blatant act of aggression and it could not go ignored. Amaya was furious – furious at the elves for the risk they represented to the lives of those she was responsible for, furious that this had happened _again_ without anyone knowing anything of value, and furious at herself.

Oh, above all else, Amaya was berating herself. Her gut twisted in a sick kind of anxiety. This was happening because of her. She wasn't sure why, but all of this seemed so personal. The notes. The plant. The finely crafted bracelet. They were gifts _for her_, threats aimed _at her_. And she wasn't sure why. Amaya could understand it if the Sunfire elves hated humans; Amaya was well acquainted with that sort of blanket distaste and disgust. After all, she'd lived with it ever since she had cradled the corpse of her once life-loving sister. But this? This confused her and that was infuriating.

_Honoured. _The word rolled around in her mind, curled on the tip of her tongue. A strange choice of language. It made her think of bowing and salutes and the hot gleam of eyes on her back as Amaya fled a battlefield. It made her think of _that _elf, the one with a blade of fire and long swinging braids, who seemed to live by her own indecipherable code of honour that wouldn't allow her to strike Amaya down with her superior weapon, but did allow sending spies over her walls with plants.

Amaya shook her head to clear the image of the elf from her mind and stalked over to the roaring fire – the castle was always so cold, despite being so close to rivers of molten rock, so cold that Amaya thought that one day it might lodge deep in her bones and never leave – and threw the bracelet on.

There was a hushed silence as they watched it burn. She could tell from the stiffness of her soldier's backs, the way that their mouths were clamped tightly shut. Amaya turned on her heel, vibrating with an anxious kind of fury, all the eyes in the room her captive audience. She continued to sign, Gren vocalising, with hand movements sharp and angry.

"Someone knows that I burnt the first parcel. Someone also knows that I keep the plant in my office. Will they know of this too?"

After the last incident Amaya had increased the watch, upped the frequency and range of the patrols, and poured hours into examining the outpost's defences. She had been under the impression that she had identified all their blind spots. Apparently not.

The main gate faced out onto the breach, the rocky corridor that was one of the few ways to cross the border between the human lands and Xadia. In order to shoot an arrow into the gate, someone would have to stand out there on that corridor in full sight of the guards. To the sides of the path was lava. There was no other way and yet nobody had been seen, despite the numerous guards on the gate and above it in the towers and on the battlements; only the _thunk _of the arrow penetrating deep into the wood had been heard. Men had rushed down, blades drawn. Nothing.

'Today it was an arrow with a note. It could have just as easily been a raid. Soldiers dead on the walls, dropping without warning. Elves scaling our defences and making corpses of our men. You have all seen these creatures move. This is unacceptable."

They talked for hours, locked up in that tiny room, debating how best to stay alive. Amaya was afraid for her people and this concern was not misplaced, but there was a tiny voice in the back of her head saying that perhaps this wasn't about an invasion, or a war. Perhaps this was about her. Perhaps this was about a woman whose eyes burned through her.

Hours later Amaya retired to her quarters with her head pounding and her heart weary. As a general she was entitled to a personal office as well as separate living quarters. It wasn't exactly luxurious, but it was quiet and it was hers. She kept her quarters clean, but they were not as sparse as one might have assumed. Amaya was unmarried, but she was loved deeply and her room reflected that.

Over the coarse bed sheets lay a thick woollen blanket in a riot of colours. Gren had given it to her for her thirtieth birthday, the product of half a year of careful crocheting. The wool was worn where he'd had to unpick his hole-ridden efforts. Amaya had spent several months thinking that he had taken a secret lover with his sudden shiftiness and refusal to let her enter his rooms.

She had laughed heartedly when he had presented the blanket to her.

'_Not a lover, then?' _

He had looked confused, his mouth half-smiling and his head cocked as if he did not understand the joke. Then his face lit up and he laughed with her, shaking his head in denial. She thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. Amaya took the blanket with her from outpost to outpost, wherever Katolis sent her. It felt like home and it smelt like love.

Set upon a small table lit by the light streaming through the window rested a painting of Amaya and her sister, Sarai. Their faces were young, joyful. Both were unarmoured, dressed in loose flowing garments with easy smiles on their lips. Since Sarai's death Amaya rarely went anywhere without her armour. Whilst the raw pain of her loss had faded and dulled over the years, there were still some days where every moment felt like a fight, the darkness trying to drag her down.

Flowers sat in a vase beside the picture. At the moment it was stuffed full of blossoming lavender. Amaya changed them regularly. She kissed the image of her sister as she did so and regretted that she had not done so more often when she had had the chance.

A chess set sat on the small desk, a gift from an ex-lover almost ten years ago. They had parted amicably enough; Amaya had joined the army and her girlfriend had walked away, preferring the quiet life of a craftswoman to sitting at home wondering if today was the day that Amaya wouldn't come back. It was the right decision for them both, but that didn't mean that it hadn't hurt.

Every time Amaya went back to Katolis she hesitated by the door of the woman's shop. Sometimes, in a moment of weakness and fondness, she peered in through the window to catch a glimpse of long plaited hair. Whenever she wanted to actually buy something she sent Gren in and never told him why. She imagined that he knew, of course, but they had never mentioned the matter to each other.

Amaya had thrown out all the other mementoes of that relationship, preferring a blank slate for her new life in the army. But she had kept the set. It was expensive, well-crafted, and she liked to play.

Dust was collecting on the spines of her tactical books. She had a small collection of famous battle reports, breakdowns of tactics, and notes on how to keep a small army functioning on a campaign. When she had been younger, Amaya had been an avid reader of fiction. Romance novels were her particular pleasure: soft, easy to read books wherein the princess got the girl and everyone lived happily-ever-after.

There were no such books in this room. She'd stopped believing in happily-ever-afters after Sarai had died. Besides, there was no time to read anymore. Her days were full of reports, line after line detailing supplies, casualties and orders. And now, apparently, deciphering quasi-cryptic notes tied to arrow shafts.

Amaya poured herself a half-measure of a rich red wine. Such an indulgence was a rare luxury, but it had been a hell of a day. She collapsed into a chair. Her heavy armour had already been stripped off and Amaya was left wearing the soft linen robes that protected her from chafing. It was a relief to feel unburdened, even for a moment.

The meeting had produced precious little in terms of actual results. The watch would be upped – again – and everyone would sleep less easy, but there was frustratingly little that could be done against an enemy that seemed to be able to turn invisible. Short of raising her army and marching across the breach to demand answers face to face, upping the guard was all that Amaya could think to do.

Amaya stared out the window and thought on the situation. Her natural inclination was, of course, towards cautious but decisive action. Yet Viren had ordered her to steer clear of anything that could be considered a tangible act of war. Even the Sunfire elves' occupation of the fortress at the other end of the breach had not spurred Viren into action. _After all_, she thought bitterly, _all they technically did was occupy a structure on their own territory._

_Fuck technicalities_.

This was a problem that Amaya was determined to solve without ending up being carted back to Katolis for a tongue-lashing or, worse, a demotion. No, this was a problem that called for some creative thinking. Besides, she'd burned through enough swords recently clashing with the Sunfire elf general. The weapons-master was starting to complain.

Amaya downed the last of her wine and smiled. Rooting through her desk, she pulled out a pen and a scrap of parchment. Viren wouldn't like it, but, well, what was he going to do? Come and scold her like she was a misbehaving child? Hardly. Being Katolis' most respected general afforded Amaya a certain amount of leeway in these matters, and this was an idea far more elegant than marching at the head of an invading force.

She scratched out a brief message on the paper, tugged on her slippers, and went in search of Gren. He wasn't in his quarters. Amaya paused in the corridor. Where would Gren go in this time of uncertainty? _Of course. _The answer came to her: the library. And there he was, tucked into a dark and dusty corner, nose in a book.

It was unusual for such a small military outpost to have any kind of library at all. Katolis had maintained a military presence at the breach for over ten years now and this particular room had first been used as a place to file reports. Not that what they did could reasonably be described as filing by anyone. Moulding boxes were heaped high with copies of intelligence reports, supply receipts, transfer requests, payslips, and a myriad of other bits of paper related to the running of a battalion. There did not appear to be any kind of system.

Gren had taken it upon himself to organise this mess into a searchable system. Somewhere amongst the piles would be interesting tidbits on local culture, sightings of the elves, maybe even maps of the small and winding passages through the rocks. Fortunes rose and fell on information. Amaya approved of Gren's latest venture and had asked him to pass anything useful on to her.

Presently, Gren was hunched over a damp and suspicious smelling scroll, eyes squinting in the faint light of a candle. Amaya thumped her slippered foot against a bookcase to get his attention. Gren jerked upright and snapped off a salute.

_'Sir.'_

_'Lieutenant.' _She signed back. '_I have a task for you_. _I need you to find me a spy._'

It was a fact of war that not every skirmish was an honourable one. The Moonshadow elves had proved as much with the killing of King Harrow. Wherever possible, Amaya preferred to do things by the book, meeting her enemy squarely on the battlefield, properly armoured men lined up in neat little rows whilst she sat astride a majestic horse like a knight out of some sort of cheap novel.

Unfortunately, reality was somewhat different. For starters her horse was an ugly, squat beast. Loving and sturdy, yes, but in no way majestic. Then there was the fact that everyone stunk of lard, animal fat rubbed into their armour to stop it rusting. And that was before the ugly business of killing and dying started.

More than that, Amaya knew the value of a well-placed knife in the dark and when she weighed it against honour she found honour wanting.

'_Sir.'_

Gren's expression was blank but she knew he nervously awaited an explanation. Like why she had chosen to work through him rather than going directly to a spy herself. The answer to that was simple: Gren was a people person and he seemed to have a far better relationship with their fickle Intelligence unit than she did.

There were three spies under her command, part of an eight people strong Intelligence unit that was devoted solely to the gathering and interpretation of information. They were not often actually around. The unit operated semi-independently, receiving orders directly from Katolis and whilst Amaya could direct them as she pleased she often found herself met by resistance. Far easier to send Gren. Oh, the benefits of being in command.

_'I need their best archer.' _Amaya passed him the note she had hastily scrawled. Her hands now free she continued to sign, _'I want it attached to an arrow and shot into the Xadian outpost. A wall. Not an elf. Please be clear about that. I do not intend to provoke an invasion.'_

Gren looked down at the note in his hand. He raised an eyebrow.

'_Uh, not to question your judgement, sir, but, uh,' _Gren's hands fluttered awkwardly, conveying the sign-language equivalent of a verbal stutter._ 'Are you certain that this is wise?'_

_'I am certain, Lieutenant.'_

'_Then it shall be done.'_

Amaya thanked him and strode off, managing to be an intimidating presence even without her armour and clad in slippers. She left Gren in the flickering light of the solitary candle, alone with his thoughts.

He picked up the candle and held it to the note, as if to check that he was reading it correctly.

_'To whoever is sending me notes, _

_Fuck off. _

_Yours,_

_General Amaya.'_

Gren snorted. "That woman," he muttered, a note of admiration in his voice.

He snuffed out the light and went to find a spy.

* * *

Oh hooo the plot finally starts to get somewhere! I've spent some time actually planning out where this story is going in more detail so I should be able to publish semi-frequent updates. Hope you enjoy! x


	4. Don't You Want To Fight?

**Don't you want to fight?**

Amaya was feeling rather pleased with herself. The morning following their late night conversation in the library, Gren had slipped into her office to tell her that the events had been set in motion. He had found someone willing to shoot an arrow into the gate of the elven fortress and then ride hell for leather in the opposite direction.

The boy - for he was just a boy, barely old enough to join the army at all – had bowed low to Amaya as he gave her the report. His fingers had flickered out in quick, confident communication. His ease with sign language made obvious sense; what better way, after all, to communicate in silence?

"_I was seen, General. There was no way not to be. I surveyed the area and the only way to make the shot was to stand in full view on the path."_

Amaya nodded. She had expected that that would be the case. What she had not expected was that the spy would be so young. An undercurrent of relief trickled through her veins that, despite the clear danger, this boy was unharmed.

"_I stayed just long enough to be sure that the arrow had stuck, then I fled. They loosed half a dozen arrows after me, but missed. I am quick and small." _The spy had shrugged haphazardly, smiling as though this was all a game.

Amaya had thanked him for his service and dismissed him. Message received.

A week later she was tucking into a bowl of hot warm porridge in the officers' dining area, and as of yet there had been no response of any kind. The officers generally ate separately from the main troops, allowing them to discuss sensitive matters over food and drink. Today, however, those clustered around Amaya chatted easily of nothing of much importance – their families, home, what they would spend their pay on.

Amaya was relaxed. Her hands were loose and her gestures free and easy as she joined in with the conversation. She was busy with a slice of hot, warm bread fresh from the kitchen's oven when it became clear that something was going on. Men around her were twitching, looking over their shoulders at the strong wooden door to the room, as though they could hear something loud.

"_What is it?" _Amaya asked the woman nearest to her.

"_Pounding feet. Running men. Voices raised in shouts." _

That was not an uncommon occurrence in a military outpost. Soldiers often fought, squabbled over money or lovers or missions. Troublemakers were abound, especially those pesky types involved in military research. It could be nothing, but her heart rate ticked up a notch in anticipation.

Ready to order for calm, Amaya was beginning to rise from her chair when the door swung open and those nearest recoiled in alarm, mouths open with shouts Amaya couldn't hear. Some flung themselves down onto the table, others backwards, toppling their chairs. Amaya stood firm – she must be seen to be in charge, after all, not mewling in fear like a kitten – but her jaw dropped a little as a fiery bird swooped into the room.

Her first thought was that it was _actually on fire_. Amaya blinked, focusing her eyes. It became apparent that this was not the case. The bird was simply feathered in red, orange, and gold, and the rapid fluttering of its long wings was creating the illusion of flickering flames. It was huge, as large as an eagle. was no such beast this side of the border.

All around her, food was tossed aside and plates clattered to the floor as the highest-ranking officers stood up and drew their blades. They had their swords half out of their scabbards when the bird swooped up above their heads and dived abruptly, coming in for a landing on the table in front of Amaya.

She crossed her arms in front of her and cut her hands in opposite directions, commanding her men to put their swords down.

It was a goddamn bird, after all. What was it going to do? Coo at her? Claw her eyes out? Actually, that last one was an actual possibility. The bird had gleaming talons, well over an inch long. But the colours, the impression of fire, and the distinctly not-Katolian nature of the creature made her think that this was a reply to her note.

The bird alighted on the table and dipped its head towards her, seemingly in a show of respect or thanks. Amaya nodded back, brisk and efficient, her steely gaze assessing the bird. It's body was about the size of a plump pheasant, but its wings fluttered for a moment before being tucked in and the wingspan was at least as large as her arm span. And Amaya was a woman of significant size.

The bird waddled a few steps forward, avoiding stepping in the pot of honey, and stuck its foot out towards her.

It was an odd scene. Forty men and women at-arms disrupted as they ate their breakfast. Food on the floor. Plates and cutlery scattered. Four soldiers in full armour clustered in the doorway, out of breath, clearly having chased the bird down several corridors, their clanking steps and raised voices causing alarm. At the top table, five men and women stood with their blades drawn, Amaya at their head, all seemingly frozen and staring at a bird from the wrong side of the border.

The only one not looking flustered was the damn bird. It had a small scroll attached to its leg. Amaya reached out cautiously – she really didn't actually want to get her hands scratched up – and unhooked it. All eyes were on her as she unfurled it. Her breath caught – the same handwriting, the same dark purple ink, the same looping scrawl littered the page. It was a reply.

_General,_

_Your challenge is accepted. Meet me at midnight in the rocky clearing where the lava diverges – do you know the one? Twenty paces from the curled oak tree where the nightsinger bird has made its nest? _

_Come with only one other and we shall fight to determine our worth._

_I look forward to testing your blade and your heart,_

_General Janai of the Sunfire elves,_

_The Golden Knight of Lux Aurea. _

Amaya read the letter slowly and carefully, not letting any of her frantically changing emotions cross her face. Clearly _fuck off _didn't mean quite the same thing to the elves as it did to humans. If she were alone, Amaya would have thumped her forehead into her desk in exasperation. At least this finally provided a conclusive answer to the mystery of the sender. It was the Sunfire elves.

Specifically, it was one particular elf. Janai. Amaya hadn't intended to fight a duel, but if there was to be a fight then, well, she couldn't exactly claim to be sad about that.

In fact, this could just be the solution to this whole affair.

She rolled the scroll back up, gestured to a nearby servant to clear her plates, and rose from the table. Every pair of eyes in the room stared up at her.

Coolly, Amaya signed, "_Please continue eating." _Turning to the side, Amaya beckoned Gren to follow her and the pair walked out as muttered conversations blossomed in her wake.

The bird, having taken its fill of abandoned food scraps, took to the air and followed suit. The peculiar trio – woman and man and bird – passed quietly through the corridors, until they reached a private room. Amaya entered and locked the door behind them. She handed Gren the letter and he read it as they sat down.

Whilst he read, Amaya procured pen and paper and drafted a short acceptance and acknowledgement of the letter. The bird stuck its clawed foot out to her for the tightly furled scroll, sealed with a dab of wax and the imprint of Amaya's ring of station. Message attached, the bird took out through the nearest window without so much as a by your leave.

Gren looked at her, eyes open and expression grave. The bottom of the letter was crumpled where he clutched it tightly between his fingers. Breathing out, Gren set the letter down so that his hands were free to sign.

"_You are going, I take it?"_

_"Yes."_

There was no doubt in Amaya's mind that this was the best move to make. The Sunfire elves, violent though they were and as distasteful as she found them, obeyed a code of honour. Amaya felt certain that this duel was offered with full sincerity. They were aggressive and skilled and trickier to pin down than a slippery fish but they would not attempt to stab her in the back. If this had been the Moonshadow elves then Amaya would take a whole platoon. But it was not.

This commander – General Janai – must be the one that Amaya had fought before. Now she had a name for the face. _Janai_. Amaya rolled the word around her mouth and found it pleasing. A soft name for a hard elf, rolling and curved where the woman herself was lithe and dangerous. She was better than Amaya, especially under the light of the full rising sun with a blade of fire in her hand, but Amaya suspected that the elf would want to fight with fair terms, to win a fair victory.

That was why they were to meet at midnight, when her Sunfire powers were at their weakest. She expected that this Janai would also give up the advantage of her blade too. Amaya smiled at the thought. Janai wanted to beat her fairly, to kill her or to send her scampering back to her people and her fortress, tail tucked between her legs knowing once and for all that it wasn't the magic or the blade that had caused Amaya's previous defeats but her lack of skill.

_Oh, she has no idea what I am_. Amaya had trained for years. Hours of time sunk into swinging a blade, over and over until her arms were too weak to lift the hunk of metal. More than that, Amaya was clever. Thoughtful. Cunning. She knew that she could do this, knew it in her bones. And with their General gone, perhaps the elves would back off.

The mystery of _why _Janai had sent her bread and then a plant and then a bracelet still remained. It didn't make sense. If a duel was what Janai wanted, then why not just start with that? There was no need for this dance, this trading of messages. Amaya tucked the question away in her mind for another time.

_"I will come with you." _Gren signed.

That was why she had brought him here to this quiet room. To ask him to walk through the night with her to a duel with a dangerous elf. To be her second. To ask him to stand by her side and protect her back and, if it came to it, to take word and her corpse back to the outpost.

_"Thank you." _

There was nothing more to be said. He had her back, as he always would. Gren understood the opportunity that this chance presented and though he did not much like it, he would walk with her.

_Primals, _Amaya swore. _What on earth did I do to deserve such loyalty? _

_"Of course, General Amaya." _

Clasping his hand, Amaya smiled at Gren and then left to go and prepare for the duel. This wasn't her first rodeo. As a young woman in training, Amaya had engaged in a number of duels. Some were part of her training and others were more … personal. Needless to say, she had a fair amount of practice duelling in the dark with no one watching.

Once in her quarters, Amaya began by sharpening her most recent blade, which she had acquired from the armoury after the elf woman – Janai! _Janai! _She had a name and Amaya ought to start using it – had lopped half of the last one off. Grinding the whetstone was repetitive, boring work but Amaya had strong arms and an active mind, so she took the time to think.

_What do I know about this Janai? _She was razor fast and nimble, following Amaya up onto rooftops and flipping on her feet with ease. For someone of her bulk, Amaya wasn't exactly _slow_, but her strengths had more to do with power than speed. Her opponent was slender – muscular, but slender – and speed cannot last forever. One solid punch might be enough to crack a bone, break a nose.

_What about her magic? _After the Sunfire elves captured the fortress at the other side of the breach, Amaya had ordered Gren to pass on all the information that he could find about the known abilities of the Sunfire elves, but there was precious little. Some were able to heal, which wasn't particularly relevant to a duel. But there were other rumoured skills, tales of elves burning from the inside out, glowing under the sun.

Amaya grinded the whetstone and thought of the elf, her bronzed skin alight with fire and fury. It was strangely … beautiful. Like she had a universe trapped inside of her, trying to break free. _I must take care not to underestimate her_.

Judging that her sword was sufficiently sharp, Amaya turned to her shield. After examining the surface for dents or scratches that might weaken the structure of the huge piece of equipment, Amaya dug out a greasy rag and began to polish it. This wasn't just an act of vanity – a well-polished shield could be used to reflect light into an opponent's eyes, blinding them, even for just a second.

Last was her armour. There was little to do with that except to put it on. Amaya had always maintained her equipment properly, regularly rubbing it with fat to prevent rusting and repairing any dents. It was ready to be put on.

Stripping off, Amaya paused to look at herself in the mirror. Short hair that she cut herself with a knife when it got too long framed a sharp, scarred, angular face. Sometimes she thought she had too many scars. She wondered if tomorrow she would have more, creating a tapestry on her skin that told a story of violence and anger and pain.

Amaya turned her scarred cheek away from the mirror, lest it provoke unwanted thoughts of Sarai, and jerked around, searching for her linen under-armour robes. She pulled them on hastily, suddenly eager to hide the age-old wounds on her body from her sight. Over the linen went the padded armour, then the metal. This she took more time on – a loose buckle or an ill-adjusted greave could spell her end.

Finally ready, Amaya sheathed her weapons and strode outside. The skies were already darkened, almost black. They had perhaps an hour or so before midnight fell. Orders had to be given and there was a little time left before she and Gren had to depart. Across the courtyard, Gren struggled with the horses; her obstinate beast of choice was clearly causing him some difficulty.

Stifling a smile, Amaya spoke with her most senior Lieutenant General, a hardy woman by the name of Karis.

"_I expect us to return within five hours. If I fall, I entrust Lieutenant Gren with the task of bringing back my body." _It was not a pleasant conversation, but it was one that had to be had. "_And my horse. You can have him, if you like." _

Amaya smiled at Karis, whose shoulders softened slightly at the joke. Nobody wanted her horse; he was too stubborn and getting a little old for the battlefield. This conversation was not easy for Karis, either, and she had made her disapproval of this plan plain earlier. Amaya remained firm – this was simply something that she felt that she _had _to do.

_"In the case of such an event, I leave you in charge. If neither of us has returned before dawn, send a small but skilled force after us. Perhaps eight men, under the command of a Lieutenant, would be best. Do not risk yourself." _

_"I understand." _Karis hesitated, her hands fluttering as if she wished to say more, but was not sure if her comments would be welcome.

"_Speak. I always welcome your thoughts, Karis." _

The country of Katolis had one official sign language, where each gesture represented a single word or idea, which were strung together to make a sentence. Names, however, were finger-spelled, unless someone was a close friend. In that case, a sign was taken to represent that person, rather than their name. Instead of signing _K-A-R-I-S_, Amaya spread both hands wide and wiggled her fingers upward, to convey the idea of growing plants breaking through the soil, straining to reach the sun. The two women shared a love of gardening and wildlife and this had given Karis her name-sign.

"_Be careful around the Sunfire elf. When they are angry they can become fire." _Amaya nodded gravely. This was the phenomenon that a few scant texts had hinted at, the same thing that she had seen Janai do when they had fought. "_They are faster. Stronger. This we know. But the elves are cautious. They kept their secrets close even when our kingdoms were not so hostile. We do not know what it is that they might be able to do. Even at night she will not be powerless."_

Karis' warnings were interrupted by the clatter of hooves on the stones. Gren led the two prancing horses by their reins. They were clearly annoyed at being disrupted at this time of night.

"_I will take care." _

Karis bowed her head in acknowledgement. "_Godspeed, General Amaya." _

Amaya nodded in return and turned to Gren as the older woman strode away, no doubt to make preparations and contingency plans in the case of her misfortune.

"_Are you prepared?"_

_"Yes, sir!"_

Gren seemed to have laden both himself and his horse with a virtual armoury of spare weaponry – everything from a recursive bow to daggers to a crossbow hanging heavily off of his shoulder – and enough medical supplies to patch up a battalion.

Amaya spared a brief glance upwards at the skies. It would be a half an hour ride. Time was starting to slip away.

"_Well then, let us be off." _

Amaya swung onto her horse, which grunted in displeasure, tossing his head and shaking out his mane. She quieted him with a scratch between the ears as Gren climbed into his own saddle. His horse was shorter than her own and Gren now sat almost a whole head shorter than her.

With a grin, Amaya snaked out a gauntleted hand to ruffle his hair affectionately, before spurring her horse into action. Her over-loud laughter and the horse's hooves clattered off the stones as she raced through the propped-open gate, Gren hot on her heels. Her men saluted her as she passed, the wind ruffling her hair and she smiled at them, teeth bared.

Amaya was confident in herself, in her sword, in her abilities to win this duel. But nothing was for certain. If she did not return, this was how she wanted them to remember her: wild and free, with laughter on her lips and a friend at her back.

* * *

Longest chapter so far! Next one they'll actually meet properly! Hurrah!


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